


I know it hurts (but baby, we can't stop now)

by maddieee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, F/F, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Relationship(s), Post-Hogwarts, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-05-21 13:56:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14916635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddieee/pseuds/maddieee
Summary: They wanted each other during the war. They wanted each other still after it. When one is always leaving the other, how will Harry and Draco ever be something more?





	I know it hurts (but baby, we can't stop now)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is written for the HD Wireless with the prompt by alpha-exodus:
> 
> We Won't - Jaymes Young and Phoebe Ryan.  
> "Don't go to war for me  
> I'm not the one that you want me to be  
> Don't call me up at 2 a.m. tonight  
> It feels so damn good and I wish you would  
> And don't cry no more for me  
> Don't waste your time convincing me  
> That maybe someday we'll get it right  
> Cause we never could, I wish that we would"
> 
> They had a wartime secret relationship but ended up breaking up. Now, after the war, they're still attracted to one another, but they have to figure out if it was the war that was bad for them or if they're just not meant to be together.  
> \--  
> Had my ups and downs during the whole process of writing this fic and I am so happy with what I'm giving to the community. Thank you alpha-exodus for the beautiful prompt and a new favourite song!!
> 
> Thank you maesterchill for the wonderful beta work. I am truly grateful for your time and patience for it! 
> 
> I would like to thank the lovely Sprinters in the discord as well who wrote along with me.
> 
> And, finally, thank you to the mods (new and old) who made this fest possible and added more drarry goodness to the community. You guys rock!!

_“Don’t go.”_

_“You know I have to.”_

_“I do.” A sigh, a breath, “But just… just don’t.”_

_Silence. Ever so heavy, yet they were so used to it by now that it felt like a friend. As the madness of this war slowly consumed their world, as the days of the inevitable end came closer, they felt how this silence had erected fences between them to grow further apart._

_They had roles. Dictated by their morals and attachments, they had parts they must play in this war they never chose to be in. He didn’t tell him what the cabinet was for, just as he never knew what the other one had been trying to search for with their Headmaster._

_It was the moment for leaving again._

_After this, he knew everything would have to change. He needed one more lie. One more clandestine second. Secrets all tangled up and weaving all over them, lies and lies and more lies sounding as sweet as the affections they never fully admitted to having._

_“When will you come back?”_

_There wasn’t an answer, like always. But unlike always, he didn’t lean into a kiss, didn’t make up a promise of what day they would meet on. Now, they could only hear the clenching of fists, of teeth, and of hearts. They both ached for different reasons, pained with different sufferings._

_“I’ll wait for you.”_

_He had a defiant stare, fierce and piercing but so full of desire and something infinitely more that he had to look away._

_“But I can’t become who you want me to be.” He returned the glare in degrees, eyes green like an Avada, but there was something there that pleaded, something that urged him to understand._

_“You mean happy? With just this?” His own eyes softened, “I never asked you to.”_

_"Like how I will never ask you to wait for me. Goodbye, Draco.”_

_He sucked in a gasp, as if trying to catch it in the way he wished he could reach for the back that had turned to him. The lip in his teeth bled, red, copper filling his mouth, his throat. So many words. So much to shout for, to scream until--the door slammed shut, and he wrapped himself in the sheets._

_A tear made its way down his cheek, and he whispered to the familiar darkness, “Idiot. You’re a fucking idiot, Harry Potter.”_

 

* * *

  
“Draco Malfoy.”

Draco jumped and whirled around, the ice in his scotch rattling along with the motion. No one had said his name like that in a long time. Three years to be exact. If someone thought that three years after that blasted War was short, Draco would call them a fool.

Yes, it had been such a long time. A long arduous journey after his family’s trial and the reparations that he now felt indifferent whenever his solicitor told him he had to give up something of value. It never seemed to end. What else can they take when it seemed like there was nothing else to give? The Manor and the Malfoy fortune slipped away from their fingers. The Malfoy name now vandalised and slandered, becoming truly notorious and spit upon--figuratively and not so figuratively.

He never expected to hear that full name, especially with how he frequented bars in Muggle London, away from the world he grew to love and hate.

But when he finally saw who called him--saw that wild, messy thing of a hair, those pools of emerald, the branching lightning bolt scar across a side of his face--Draco couldn’t help the gasp that escaped his lips.

“Harry?” He asked, a bit too stupidly when he thought back on it.

Harry grinned slow and easy, the whites of his teeth a stark contrast against his skin, looking all too pleased at the evident confusion. He gave him a once over, smirking at whatever he saw there.

And Draco was burning.

The lights of the bar bathed him in different hues, different shades. He was a goddamn painting, Draco thought, wondering how the fates could truly be unfair. While he must have looked worse for wear, fucking tired of just about everything, Harry looked happier, healthier, far from the scraggly boy he knew him to be.

Harry huffed, sitting on the stool next to him, flagging down a bartender for a drink. He was wearing a navy blue button-up, sleeves folded up to his elbows, exposing veins over lean muscle. Black trousers fit him like glove, with broad thighs that seemed to jump out at Draco and made his mouth water. The Auror Program must be ridiculous, Draco thought. Only a year in and Harry looked like a fucking god.

He also grew his hair out, Draco would have been blind to not notice it the first time they--well, the first time they saw each other again after the War. The jet-black curls were tied in a haphazard bun behind his head, and the look was completed by his full beard, rough and roguish. He self-consciously rubbed the top of his head, feeling the emptiness there.

He was a Malfoy only in name now.

“You cut your hair.” Harry commented casually, taking a sip of his drink when it arrived.

Draco huffed, downing his own, “Shaved. Shaved is the correct term, Potter.”

“Shocked to see that you had it in you. Your hair was precious to you, far as I remember.”

“And how far back was that?”

Harry glanced at him, licking his lips, “Enough for me to know you still loved your hair. Among other things.”

Draco’s eyebrow ticked in response, but he refused to say anything more about it, “What brings you back to this side of town, Potter? Giving your crazed fangirls and fanboys the slip?”

“I could ask the same about you.”

“About running away from fans? What fans? Don’t be daft.”

“Why not? I’m a fan.” Harry was the one with the cocked eyebrow now, chuckling, and he brought his drink to his lips for a taste. His voice lowered as he leaned in and whispered into his ear, “Or did you forget just how much I worshipped you the other night?”

Draco swallowed, signalling the bartender again for a refill. If he was going to keep talking to Harry like this, dealing with this flirtatious, handsome man, he needed a drink. He needed more drinks. Maybe a bottle of whisky would do the trick.

Wait, no, he had to be strong--he wouldn’t go down this road. Not again.

“Why are you here, Potter?” he asked, emphasising the situation with a glare. He already left, the bed was cold again, breakfast all forgotten. The other man opened his mouth, about to say something preposterous, he was sure, but Draco beat him to it. “And don’t you dare use your goddamn pick up lines. Merlin knows I’ve heard a lot.”

“I’ve missed you.”

The sudden confession hit him hard, and his apparent shock almost gave him whiplash. Harry stared at him; the confidence gone, the grin wiped clean, and his eyes bore into him. Draco had to wrench his gaze away, as if, by doing so, he could escape out of this innate gravity that Harry had on him, pulling him in and then flinging him around.

Hadn’t he had enough?

“Why?” Draco had to ask. He had to. Or else, he’d forget about everything. All the reasons he chanted in front of the mirror every morning, all the explanations he mulled over with each cigarette he finished, all the how’s and why’s he and Harry would never get that happy ending.

He would forget how the photo and 1000-word article in in the Prophet had made sure of that, the word ‘Engaged’ drowning him with the taste of salt of his tears and the burn of his drink.

But he was also waiting. Waiting for any word from Harry that rendered them all meaningless, that Draco was more than just a secret he carried throughout 6th year.

“I want you.”

And that was it, wasn’t it?

Draco stood up from his seat, lust and alcohol running throughout his system now, and pulled on Harry’s wrist, leading him to the toilets.

They Apparated to Draco’s flat without any more words exchanged. They couldn’t go to Harry’s, that was obvious, but Draco wished they didn’t go back to his again. He’d have to buy something stronger than bleach to clean away memories on his couch, clear out the magic he imprinted on the walls. They landed in his kitchen, evidence of Draco’s lonely breakfast still there on the table.

How many times had they done this?

For the whole secrecy and lies, Draco thought about 6th year, and he wondered if the last three years was just an interlude when life simply came back for them, showing them that a war wasn’t enough to be their only defining quality anymore.

As for the sex, Draco counted twice, ever since Harry found him two nights ago in the same Muggle bar, reliving memories of their almost-romance as they talked and fucked.

The times Harry left him, bleeding and hurting? Too many to count. The moments Draco still let him in despite that? Every damn time.

Yes, they always found a way to fall back. It was rather sloppy, the way they kept reaching for each other.

There wasn’t any style or consideration in the way Draco sucked on Harry’s neck, fumbling to get his belt off and his trousers open, but he took his sweet time marking what was his tonight. There wasn’t anything remotely close to art in the way Harry grabbed his thighs and hauled him up, Draco’s pale legs wrapping around his waist, but fucking hell, Harry was bloody beautiful in that angle.

His shirt was open, except for the last few buttons, the front hem brushing the dark curls below his navel. The back was rudely untucked by Draco as he pushed his hands under them, clawing his nails down Harry’s skin.

The cupboards rattled when Harry anchored him against the wall next to them, pushing into him with a satisfied groan. There might have been someone upstairs who yelled for them to shut up, that it was fucking two in the morning, but they didn't care. Not when Draco gasped and moaned as Harry pulled out then slammed inside him from behind, knees trembling and palms flattening on the wall to keep himself upright.

And when the force of his orgasm punched a hole in his gut and chest, Draco reasoned that it wasn’t because of how Harry refused to meet his eyes as he cleaned them both with a wave of his hand. When they kissed again, open-mouthed, hungry and almost desperate, Draco explained that it was because he must feel bad for cheating on his fiancée again.

Harry sighed, resting his forehead against Draco, “I wish… I wish we could…”

Draco laughed, his vision blurring from the tears he held onto with his life, “Stop it, Potter. We wouldn’t. We can’t. It wouldn’t work. So just… just don’t.”

He felt Harry swallow, his head slipping down to Draco’s shoulder. He felt Harry kiss him there, whispering apologies. He willed his hands to move, partially to push Harry away but mostly to slip his fingers through the man’s unruly hair and pull him in closer. But they stayed at his sides. Tired. Just like his head, his eyes, his heart. Sore.

“Go.” Draco whispered, turning to plant a chaste kiss on Harry’s temple, “The Weaslette might be raving like a banshee right now, but it’s only because of the wedding.”

“Don’t call her that.”

“I’ll call her what I want to call her, Potter. She’s not the slut you’re fucking on the side.”

Harry groaned, less seductively and more on exasperation, his arms winding tight around Draco’s half-naked body. “Don’t call yourself that.”

Something in him snapped. He was tired. The high from his orgasm was gone. He was sweaty and sticky and he felt filthy all over. He needed a bath, a warm and long one. He needed to eat that long-overdue cake he bought three days ago, when he learned of Harry’s engagement. Most of all, most of all…

He needed Harry to…

“And just what am I to you then, Potter? Special?” He snarled the word, spitting it out disgustedly, finally finding the will to push him away. Harry stumbled as he stepped back, and he shivered. It was probably the cold, the one that seeped through Draco’s bones. No, it wasn’t because of what he was about to do to them, to Harry, to himself. It was the cold and only because of it. “I have never been anything to you. Never. Stop pretending you fucking care and go back.”

Harry stared at him in shock, hands and arms still open, outstretched, as if waiting for Draco to melt into them again.

“Draco, please--”

“Stop. And just leave. You already got what you want from me. Leave!” He yelled, pointing toward the door.

He must look like such a fool, almost naked with only his white dress shirt and black socks on. His cock was dangling between his legs, cum still dripping from his arse, telling this man who has just fucked him to go. It seemed more pathetic to add in his irrational emotions toward said man.

The only consolation, possibly, was that Harry was as nearly as exposed as he was, dark chest heaving and limp cock jutting out above his pants and trousers. Then again, as he thought before, the Auror Program was a strict yet effective one. Truly unfair. Draco could feel his desire pooling in his gut once more, compounding with the adrenaline of his rage, and he hoped to Circe it wouldn’t show.

Harry finally snapped out of his surprise with a deep, slow breath through his nose, eyelids falling to a close. He placed a hand on his hip, another pinching the bridge of his nose under his frames.

“Can we not do this, please?” Harry whispered. “I can’t do this right now.”

“That’s why I’m telling you to fucking go!”

“I can’t!”

“And why the bloody hell not?”

“She’s pregnant, Draco! Pregnant!”

He ran a hand down his face, sighing raggedly, and then he reached up to tangle it with his hair. It looked messier, more so from their activities.

Right now, Draco just wanted to yank it out and scream at Harry.

He could feel it, that rage building up slowly inside him, overpowering his lust, but it quickly died down. Pregnant. Ginevra was pregnant.

No matter how many love bites he made on his neck, no matter how dirty and ruined he became after each night, no matter how fierce he held Draco right after, she would always have Harry now.

He may have wrecked Harry for other lovers, but his life would always be bound to the Weaselette’s from now on. The surprise engagement made more sense.

He snatched his trousers and boxers from the floor, putting his legs in the latter. Right and then left. Next, his trousers. Pulled it up over his legs, did the zipper. He put his leathers on too, tying them neatly.

It was when he was done that he noticed the cold tears that stained his cheeks, dribbling down onto his lips, his chin.

“Oh shit, Draco. Please don’t cry.”

He held out a hand, glaring at Harry, and he watched his step falter. Once he was in those arms, once he felt that familiar warmth, he wouldn’t be able to let go. He wouldn’t be strong enough.

“Get out, Potter.” It was silent, a bit watery, but it was harsh enough that he saw Harry flinch. “Go back to your pregnant fiancee and never come for me again.”

Harry moved forward, Draco felt that ball of rage and hurt and panic pitch low and deep inside him, hurtling itself out his throat.

“Stay away from me!”

A burst of magic shot out from Draco, causing a few plates to soar through the air and crash against the opposite wall.

Harry’s reaching hand closed into a fist and fell to his side. He searched Draco’s face with those wonderfully cruel eyes, licking his wonderfully cruel lips.

“If I could turn back time and run away with you, I would… but the war fucked this up, Draco. What I did to ensure that all of you are safe and alive…” He sighed and fell into one of the chairs after zipping himself up, hands in his hair, elbows on his knees, “I’m not… Why can’t we just make this work? I want you, Draco. I can’t… I don’t know what I’d do if we stopped now.”

What a wonderfully cruel man.

Draco laughed for the second time in the night, he really wondered how impossible this man could be. “Don’t you see, Harry. It’s not the war that fucked it all up. It’s you. You can never be happy with just me. You will never choose me, just as you will never choose running away with me instead of letting yourself die for that stupid war.”

His eyes, green like an Avada, caught his, flashing in surprise, “How did you…?”

Draco leaned on the wall behind him, slowly falling to sit on his arse. He winced at the soreness, stomping down the immediate wave of lust at the reminder of their acts from before.

“My mother was there, in case you forgot.” He fished for his lone cigarette in his pockets, lighting it up with a finger. It was the only wandless spell he knew and could control, but he was happy with it.

“She saw that spell hit you clean, Harry. She saw you fall.”

“It had to be done.”

“Had to be done...” Draco chuckled, shaking his head, “Tell me, Potter, what was it that you wanted to do? Be honest. Did you want to die?”

Harry stood from his seat, anger radiating from him in waves, “Of course not! Who would ever--”

“And you had the choice to not do it. I gave you a choice!” His voice rang clear now, the haze of pain and swirling emotions leaving him so he could think rationally.

“I didn't have a choice! If I didn’t do it, then Voldemort would have won! Killing people, a man mad with power--you don’t know what he could have done!”

Draco was staggering to stand now, a hand on the wall steadying him, “I bloody well know, Potter. Don’t mistake me for some nobody who wasn’t there. I fucking lived with him in the same house. Hell, I gave you my wand!”

“I know that--”

“But you didn’t even think to tell me, Harry, did you? I was just a one-off, someone who relieved stress from your Boy Wonder duties.” Draco began moving closer, taking another drag of his cigarette. He was close enough to breathe a cloud of smoke at Harry’s face, smirking when he coughed. “Did you really just fuck me without actually feeling anything?”

Harry looked away, jaw working as he seemed to debate on what to say. When he turned back, Draco could see the true effects of time on him. He looked crazed, tired, bags under bags under his eyes.

“You think you’re so faultless? Where were you in the last three years?”

“Why, pray tell me, would those last three years matter now?”

“Because I came back for you three years ago!” Draco had to step back, feeling like a deer caught in a trap. “And I find you already gone, fleeing the Wizarding World! I searched for you in the next two, so where were you?” He stared at Draco full on now, and the latter had to shrink back from his gaze

“You mean so much more to me than you want to believe. You left me too, hurt me too.” A harsh sigh left his lips, eyes falling shut and brows meeting together, “What are you so afraid of, Draco? I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Draco grit his teeth, “All for the wrong reasons. Who’s to say you won’t fuck about and then leave to die in some bloody crusade?”

When Harry merely stood there, glaring down at him, he sighed and took the cigarette to his lips again. Struck with an idea, he inhaled from it and reached out to pull Harry’s hair, bringing him closer.

He smashed their lips together, seizing Harry’s open lips as he gasped and blew the smoke into his mouth. Their tongues melded once, twice, before Harry had to break away in a coughing fit.

“Fucking--bastard--” He stammered, bending over and coughing out smoke. Draco clutched his stomach as he laughed and laughed, the tears springing from his eyes and bubbling over as they spilled again. Why does it hurt so much? He felt like his mind was breaking along with his heart. Why does it hurt too much?

He slapped Harry’s back twice, finishing his stick with one last inhale and putting it out under his shoe. “Go back to Ginevra, you prick. You’re about to be married in a week and she’s carrying your spawn. I can never give you that.”

Harry grabbed onto his hand, still bent over, still coughing but able to speak better now, “Why can’t you understand, Draco? I did--I died in that forest, but I got another shot at life! I chose to come back. And--and I want a family. I want to be married.” He straightened up, still holding on to his hand, eyes wide in panic, pleading, “But when I wanted to be with you, you were already gone. I wanted you! Christ, I still do! Maybe someday… I don’t know. Maybe we could work it out...”

Ah, Draco was so, so very tired.

A sense of calm settled over him as he pulled his hand away and smiled at the blubbering fool. “We can never be, Potter. Because we won’t work it out. We’ve had too many chances, but you can’t help but save people and I--I don’t want to be saved. Stop trying to fix this, us, me.” He sighed, pocketing his hands and walking further away.

“The war didn’t turn this into complete shite. We did that, you and I. It can never work.”

“Wait, Draco--”

“Goodbye, Harry. Be happy.”

He turned on his heel to Apparate, the twist and degree of the jump he was about to make felt like he was a second away from Splinching. He wasn’t certain if his nausea was because of it or because he still felt outrageously happy in the way Harry called out to him. With a loud crack and a sharp pain shooting up from his feet, he landed in front of a green door, the number 23 in silver cursive at the middle. He knocked once before pounding on it when no one came to the door.

The door flung open, revealing Blaise in his bedtime robes, dark, chiseled chest exposed enough to make Draco chuckle at his friend’s vanity. Always had to look good, this man.

“Who the fuck is it at this time--Draco?”

He smirked at Blaise, hoping that he wouldn’t get too angry or, worse, curious.

“I was just around--”

“In Italy?”

“--and I was wondering if there was someone I know who could offer me some more alcohol.”

Blaise paused, eyes roving over Draco, and he tensed in the scrutiny, wondering just how much Blaise saw.

“Potter was in Muggle London?”

He apparently saw too much.

“Will you let me in?” He asked, feeling the fatigue fully settling in now, the exhaustion starting in his bones.

Without a word, Blaise stepped to the side, and Draco only needed to take a step forward before he felt everything falling away. Blaise caught him as his knees buckled, finally crumbling and letting out sob after sob.

It took him a week before he Firecalled Pansy to tell her about what happened. Half a day before Pansy came over and he laughed for the first time. He was all too fond of her, especially with the reckless and baseless announcement that they’ll have to visit her in Azkaban from now on because she would hunt Harry down and kill him. Saviour of the Wizarding World be damned.

It took a month in Italy before he agreed to stay with Pansy in France. Another month before he agreed to apply for jobs in France and stopped living off of his family’s already diminishing fortune. It took a year before he could talk about Harry without needing to excuse himself and cry in some dark place or in the bathtub.

That feat was by Luna’s insistence of him harbouring some faerie folk or other whenever Draco cries alone. But, truth be told, he was curious if it was really true or if Luna said it because she was worried for him. He always looked for Luna then if he needed a good cry, grateful that she was almost always available. She had been growing fond of his best friend after all.

It took him five years before he went back to England, accompanying Pansy and Luna to their wedding.

On the day of the wedding, he was panicking, sitting rigidly at his table and refusing to play along with Blaise’s game of “Spot A Weasley”. He knew that it was inevitable that they meet again. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. Should he go and greet Ginevra first? Ask them about their child? Are they gunning for a second or third?

Could he look Harry in the eyes and still be able to breathe?

Pansy’s shrill laugh cut through his haze of anxiety, just in time to hear someone greeting Luna who sat at the table next to Draco’s.

“Luna! Congratulations, I’m so happy for you!”

It was Ginevra, carrying a boy in her arms, and Draco almost broke down right then and there. The boy looked just like Harry all those years ago in Madam Malkins, wild hair and face. Except, he had brown eyes and freckles like his mother, even though they were much less obvious. She kissed Luna’s cheeks, and his best friend’s wife giggled, patting their son--James, his name was James--on his head.

She straightened and then turned to Draco, surprising him. She whispered to her son and set him down on Luna’s lap, kissing his cheek when he smiled and nodded.

And she was marching toward his table.

Draco looked around, saw Blaise laughing with an old Slytherin friend beside him but he doubted she had anything to say to him. Or to the wall their table was close to.

He heard her heels clicking to a stop next to him, and Blaise did a double take when he saw who had come over, glancing at Draco in alarm.

“W-why hello, Ginevra. So good of you to join our table,” Blaise started, but the woman completely ignored him.

“Hello Draco.” Her voice was calm, firm. A strong woman, that’s what Potter chose instead of Draco. He turned in his chair, looking up at her resolutely. Time to get his just desserts. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen you.”

He cleared his throat and stood up to face her. She looked beautiful, he had to admit, fiery red hair, curled and framing her face, and a dress that made her desirable if not for Draco’s preferences. Surely Blaise was having a heart attack right now.

“Hello, Ginevra,” he murmured, clasping his shaking hands behind him, out of sight, “Yes, Italy was beautiful, France more so. You and your family should visit someday.”

Why does it hurt still, now that he’s come a long way without Harry? Why does it still ache, the idea that Harry was with this woman, and that Draco could feel his magic mingling with hers?

Her mouth quirked, eyes narrowing at him, “I’m not sure if you really mean that, unless you want to babysit my son so early on?”

“B-babysit?” He swallowed at the same time he gasped, coughing as he choked on both saliva and the notion that he would babysit the spawn while she and Harry went off gallivanting across Europe. How could she? How could he?

But Ginevra laughed, full-bodied and loud, freckles on her cheeks disappearing as she blushed, “Don’t worry, Draco, Jamie isn’t a handful. Harry could take him on if he gets too obnoxious.”

An unhelpful detail. He didn’t want to know how much of a family man his ex-lover had become over the years.

“Yes, well, I’m happy… happy for you and your family, of course.”

“Stop saying family when--”

The Weaselette’s words were cut off by a loud feedback from the mix of magic and electricity as the master of ceremonies appeared on stage, grinning at them. Pansy screeched from the other end of the room, screaming for him to stop bloody Apparating and that they’d talked about it extensively already.

But he laughed, ignoring Pansy and smoothing out the braided hair he had always sported since Hogwarts. He placed the tip of his wand on his throat, casting a non-verbal Sonorous.

“Hello, ladies and gents!” Lee Jordan greeted, moving about the stage and waving his hand as the crowd cheered, “Hope you’re all having a wonderful time. But it is now the moment when we should ask our two lovely brides to lead the slow dance of the night. Luna? Pansy? If you will?”

Pansy was stomping over in her dress and heels, walking the in the middle of the dancefloor toward Lee. Quite an image and Draco still, to this day, found it the funniest moment at that wedding. “I swear to Merlin, Jordan. One more Apparition and you’re out the door on your--”

“I think he understands that we’ll kick his arse together if he does it again, love.” Luna had caught her wife’s waist with a hand, spinning her into position, “But for now, we dance, yes?”

The music started up, an unfamiliar piano melody ringing throughout the room.

“Go,” Ginevra whispered in his ear, making him jerk and look at her. She tilted her head, toward the other side of the room, and that was when he finally saw him.

His hair was shorter now, still messy, still chaotic, while Draco had let his hair grow back again, all neat in a French Braid done by Luna. He looked a bit bulkier than before, but not so much, and Draco knew he’d gained some weight from all the food Pansy forced into him. His eyes--their gazes connected, and oh Merlin, his eyes turned Draco’s insides into fireworks and electricity and fire.

After all these years, how could he still burn this much for this man?

He searched Ginevra’s eyes, saw the wisdom in them, and his mouth went dry. Confusion was replaced with disbelief--she knew, she knew, but also, she was telling him to--

“Just go, Draco. It’s okay.”

Harry was hurriedly walking through the throng of dancers, muttering apologies or greeting them. Ginevra beamed at Draco, whispering something in his ear that got him to finally move and head over to Harry. To meet him halfway.

They arrived just at the middle of the dancefloor, Harry grinning, Draco holding his breath and not letting anything else mess up this moment for him.

“Care to dance?”

Draco nodded, accepting the hand Harry offered him without a word. What else was there to say? What else could he say to make Harry see that those five years were far too long and far too short all the same time? He missed him, but meeting him after all these years felt inevitable.

It was different, the way Harry cradled his body now. There was a gentleness so like those awkward, fumbling moments in 6th year, a rough eagerness to the hand that held him close. There was a hint of desperation in the way he pulled him closer still, almost like six years ago, when they both felt as if they were trying to catch water with fists. And then there was that warmth, the usual heat that he seemed to carry with him everywhere.

Merlin, he missed this man so much.

They blended in with couples on the dancefloor, but Draco thought he wouldn’t even have noticed if the floor caved in and trapped them all inside.

He was home.

“I missed you.”

Harry’s voice sounded a bit rougher now, a bit lower. It was softer too, without the edges that wounded them both before whenever he spoke.

“No, you don’t.” Harry merely laughed, snuggling his cheek on Draco’s hair. “You missed my glorious locks more than anything.”

“Oh yes, that, and the hot, steamy sex too, very much.” It was too easy, the way they picked on each other, the way they would go back and forth, staying on a rhythm.

“I love you.”

Draco froze midway to settling his cheek on Harry’s shoulder. He straightened up and looked at him, wide eyed and disbelieving.

“No. No, you don’t.”

Harry smiled down at him, humming, “The night you left, I went over to Ginny and broke off our engagement. I told her everything--the war, how I died, how I wanted a family--I told her she could give all of that and more. But still--but still I--” He swallowed and stared back at Draco, eyes, green like an Avada, shining with tears. They stopped dancing now, standing in the middle of the floor, intertwined. “I still wanted more, Draco. I wanted you. But when I came back the next morning, you weren’t there. A week later, someone cleaned out your flat. A month passed, and both your friends kept denying when I asked if they knew where you were.

“After a year, I thought maybe you needed time to heal, and I needed that time to do the same exact thing.”

He sighed and let Draco go only to take both of his hands into his, “We were fucked up, Draco. More me than you--and I wanted to change. I wanted to be better. I was stupid and I was a bastard, you deserve better. I wanted to love myself more and choose me instead of everybody else.

“But I want you here, with me. I want you with me when I love myself and hate myself. I love you, Draco Malfoy, and if you don’t love me back, I swear to Merlin, I’ll keep pestering you until you do.”

Draco’s laugh was watery, and he had tears running down his face the same way Harry had down his. “Don’t make it out as some big proposal, Potter. You don’t have a ring.”

Harry knelt on one knee, reaching behind him to produce a green velvet box. Draco gasped, and when Harry opened it, two silver rings twinkled with the dance floor lights.

“Promise rings,” Harry explained when Draco couldn’t say anything to it, eyes reflecting a million questions, he probably thought. “Just so the world knows I’m yours and you’re mine.”

The simplicity of the notion, the possessiveness in his tone as he said it, made Draco fall on his knees, hugging Harry tightly. The tears flowed generously now, staining Harry’s black coat, the box squished between their chests.

“We’ll fight.”

“We always fight, baby.”

“We’ll drive each other mad.”

Harry laughed and kissed Draco’s hair, “Whoever told you we were sane to begin with?”

“We won’t make it work, we won’t.”

“Maybe not everyday, but we will.”

“Tell me you love me.”

“I love you.”

The words sent shivers all around Dravo’s body, and he pulled away from Harry, leaning close enough to savour this tension between them as they waited for that kiss. Together.

“I love you too, you bastard,” Draco whispered, moving his lips against Harry, before finally indulging himself in the sweetest kiss he had ever had with him. So far.

He felt Harry pulling him up to a stand, and he scrambled to get a hold, to wrap his arms around as he kissed Harry hungrily, like a man quenching his thirst after a lifetime of drought. They took a moment to slip the rings on their fingers, Harry pocketing the box with a wide smile. Everyone around them applauded, and Draco could hear Blaise whistling and shouting his congratulations. He even saw Granger and Weasley jumping in joy at the sides when he looked around.

He looked back at Harry grinning at him, “Hold on tight.”

The pull of Apparition surprised him but Draco laughed, for the first time tonight, at how ridiculous this man was.

Pansy screaming “No Apparitions!” and a loud, ringing feedback of magic mixing with electricity were the last things they heard before the jump took them away. They landed, finally, and Draco tamped down the building nausea in his throat to push Harry against the closest surface.

His mind registered something nostalgic at the position of the door next to the wall they were on, and the image of his bedroom jumped at him.

He stopped, leaning back to look around his familiar yet unfamiliar flat. The layout was the same, even the stain on the doorframe opposite them, the one where Draco spilled a potion during a bad hangover, was there.

“I bought your flat.” Harry shrugged, skin darkening as he flushed, “I couldn’t live in mine anymore, not with Ginny there. I wanted to stay in yours. But your furniture was gone and I had to clean everything up--”

Draco mashed their lips together, successfully shutting Harry up, and began undressing him. His hands were frantic and eager, and Harry’s hands were strong and sure, pulling Draco closer, lining them up and both groaning at the sensation. They were always so contradictory, one was always more than the other, in many different ways.

He slapped his hand over Draco’s arse, the sound filling the room and Draco’s ears, mingling with his gasp. The hand slipped under Draco’s knee, and Harry anchored his leg around his waist, pushing him closer still as if the friction of their skins wasn’t entirely enough. He eased in a rhythm that brought them gasping, their hard lengths moving against the other. Their breaths were heavy, rapidly speeding the as they climbed that not-so steep hill to their orgasms, knowing just how they both craved each other’s touch, each other’s kiss.

“You grew your hair out,” Harry commented as he caught his breath, a hand removing the tie on Draco’s hair and undoing the beautiful braid. He wasn’t missing it, to be honest, not when Harry grabbed a handful of the strands and tugged, stretching Draco’s neck. He licked at that particular spot that Draco loved, teeth nibbling until he was shaking at the approach of his impending climax.

“And you hacked yours--fuck, Harry yes, faster.” Draco grabbed Harry’s arse and began grinding on his own accord.

They both flew off the edge at the same time, ruining boxers and trousers alike. Harry laughed--so many in one night now, that Draco felt stupid for letting years go by without him hearing it. He then cupped Draco’s jaw, kissing him. He licked his bottom lip, and Draco’s mouth parted to welcome him, to keep him.

They separated once more, Harry wiping his thumb over Draco’s puffy lips. His eyes traced the movement his thumb made, licking his lips in the process.

“I fucking love you,” he whispered, eyes now searching Draco’s. The moonlight didn’t reach them, but Draco could see him still amidst the darkness. “So fucking much.”

Draco chuckled, hands playing with the hair on Harry’s neck, “So crass, love.”

“Crass, really?”

A hand slithered down and unzipped Draco’s trousers, freeing his already half-hard cock. He used his other hand to push the trousers and boxers down while he gave two good pumps.

“I want to eat you out, baby, can I do that?”

“Fucking hell, Harry,” Draco groaned, fingers weaving through his hair and swaying near his lips to take them again. He gasped when Harry did a twist with his wrist, fully hard now. “Take me to bed then.”

It was a flurry of tongue and hands, claiming, touching, of teeth biting at exposed skin. They went through the door and headed for the bed, almost half-naked, the silvery glow from the moon bathing a side of it as well as half of Harry’s body. He smiled at Draco.

He looked so ethereal, it hurt Draco to look on, but he craved each moment of such beautiful pain.

Draco’s knees bracketed his torso, “How do you want me?”

Harry’s hands clamped on his thighs, pulling him forward. Draco followed until he was at the head of the bed, holding on the headboard, Harry’s face beneath him. He felt the swipe of his tongue from his entrance to his balls, Harry sucking each one gently. He almost toppled over, groaning with the sensation, but Harry caught him with a hand on his hip. In the next second, Harry’s focus was all on his arse, licking and prodding with his tongue.

“More, more,” he urged on, moaning and panting when Harry obeyed. The sounds he made coupled with the wet sounds of Harry sucking was almost criminal to his ears, something too forbidden to exist.

And then Harry pushed himself up, through Draco’s legs, catching his cock in his mouth, a lubed finger slipping inside him. His hands fell on Harry’s hair, levering himself as he rocked in and out of Harry’s sinful mouth. He looked down to see him watching, saliva dribbling the sides of his stretched out mouth. He was perfect, Draco thought, untangling a hand from Harry’s hair and caressing his temple, his cheek, his jaw. Another finger entered him, and he kept fucking Draco that way, stretching him, preparing him. Draco whined, not able to voice out loud how it wasn’t enough, he wanted that burn, wanted to feel Harry opening him up.

When Harry pushed another finger inside, pushing in a bit more and reaching that bundle of nerves, Draco threw his head back as he edged out again, feeling Harry swallow all of him eagerly.

“Sit up,” Draco commanded after he caught his breath, thighs still shaking from his orgasm.

Harry obeyed, leaning back on the headboard, and watched Draco move to line himself up on his bobbing cock. He raked his nails over Draco’s thigh, down and then up again, resting them finally on his waist. He hissed when Draco wrapped his hand around his erection, stroking it once, twice.

“Keep that up and I’ll come,” Harry rasped, voice hoarse from earlier, and his head hit the board as he closed his eyes and leaned back, neck tensing with exertion. “Jesus, Draco, I just want to feel you right now.”

Draco began sitting slowly, moaning when the head of Harry’s cock finally entered him with a pop. He continued further, licking his lips at the feel of Harry spreading him open, making him feel so full. When he finally had him inside completely, arse hitting Harry’s thighs, Draco couldn’t help squeeze his eyes shut and emit a helpless whimper.

With a sigh and a groan, Draco began to move.

“So beautiful, so beautiful.” He opened his eyes and saw Harry watching him--he seemed to only have eyes for Draco. He held Draco’s waist, pushing him up and pulling him down again, a reckless, senseless back and forth.

Harry took over now, scooching down and folding his legs to ram up into Draco, changing the angle successfully to hit his spot. Their moans and pants mixed in a way that one wouldn’t be able to tell which was which. It was a melody, ringing in their ears, ascending as they continued, in and out, in and out. Higher and higher, until which Draco screamed, finishing without even being touched, without anything coming out of him.

His lover watched him in total enchantment, stroked his arched back, grabbed his arsecheeks open as he slammed into him again and again and again, until he himself reached the peak, spilling into Draco generously. They crescendoed slowly, Draco landing on top of Harry in a heaving mess, and Harry wrapped his arms around him as his back hit the mattress.

It took Draco 6 years for this moment of bliss.

The next day came silently, morning light creeping on the carpet until it reached their eyes. They were in a different position than Draco last remembered. He was on his side, wrapped in Harry’s arms, nose pressed on his chest. It was the first time he’d slept without the need for a blanket, he realised, snuggling closer to his lover.

Lover. It was official now, wasn’t it?

Harry groaned, arms tightening around him before he let go and moved to lie on his back. He looked at Draco, glasses crooked and thoroughly smudged since he never took them off, and kissed his forehead.

“Good morning,” he mumbled, scratching under his chin and rubbing his abdomen as he stretched out. He smiled and turned to Draco again, trapping him against his chest. “Want something to eat? I can make pancakes that will knock your socks off.”

“My socks are already off,” Draco teased, smirking up at Harry.

“Ha-ha. Come on, d’you want anything?”

“Don’t go.”

Harry paused, memories and emotions passing on his face, in his eyes. How far they’d come. How long they’d struggled. But it was worth it, Draco thought, reeling back the tears that threatened to fall. He couldn’t cry, not during this joyful moment.

“You know I have to,” he chuckled, the seriousness fading with each second. “We have to eat something! I’m starving!”

“I know, but just don’t.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll stay.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

 

* * *

  
_I’ll go to war for you_  
_And you know I’ve always wanted you_  
_I’ll love you till two am tonight_  
_You feel so damn good, and I wish you would_  
_Keep crying out for me_  
_Baby, you keep on convincing me_  
_That this time we’ll finally get it right_  
_When we never did_  
_But we know we could_  
_And we would_  
_So just go_

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I revised the chorus prompt given and I hope you all liked it. ❤
> 
> It was hard for me to add the ending. I was supposed to end it at Draco's farewell 3 years after, and it already felt complete then, what with the prompt and all. But I wanted them to get together in the end (of course), and considered the next parts as something of a personal wish. Let them be happy so I can read something happy and BE happy too, you know?


End file.
